


a promise to keep

by rikiyuu



Series: the artist's paraiso [2]
Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, raidsonas, so it probably wont make sense to anyone but them, this is related to a certain rp thats happening in our au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22765696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rikiyuu/pseuds/rikiyuu
Summary: [ Soft, loving, caring. Focus on the words that he breathes and let them lull the body into a sense of safety.  ]
Relationships: Lobelia (Granblue Fantasy)/Original Character(s)
Series: the artist's paraiso [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636741
Kudos: 6





	a promise to keep

There wasn’t a particular reason why she never did self-portraits. She knew what she looked like, knew the way she styled her hair, and the clothes she wore. To replicate it and put it onto canvas seemed so redundant, and Hazel found she would much rather paint all her friends, loved ones, the people she’s met on her journey—just about everything else that isn’t her.

But today of all days she felt the need to draw herself, something she didn’t think she’d ever want to do. Maybe it was the conversation she had with Mars and Janus on the Grandcypher with Ignia and the rest of the society members about…Calliope. About finding out she was actually some millennia year old primal that had been a dear friend to Hazel, and learning that apparently, she wasn’t trusted enough to know this information. A part of her even wondered if Callie was going to tell her one day, or if she was to just be ignorant of such knowledge until the end of days.

Hazel felt hurt, she thought Callie trust her, was that really not the case? Were Mars and Janus just that much more important to Callie that she would talk to them about it, and not her? Maybe it was because they all remembered the Astrals, remembered the old war. Hazel didn’t. She doesn’t remember _anything_ of those times, only remembers what happened when she woke up for the first time and saw the bright blue sky above. Is that why no one told her? Was she just…not worthy?

She took her anger out on the canvas, her usual steady hand shaking with thoughts of today and of memories of times gone by. It was difficult to think properly, and painting had suddenly become a daunting task it its own right. The tendril that she sat upon took notice of its master’s hesitation and a piece of itself extended towards Hazel’s painting arm, gently wrapping itself around it and coaxing her into a gentle routine. The gesture made her smile, the tension working itself from the tight lines that formed from her furrowed and squinted face.

“Ah, what would I do without you guys…?” She says to her tendrils, gently petting the tendril as a mother would to a loved child. Hazel allows the tendrils to take lead for a bit, giving herself an opportunity to rest her body and mind from the events of this morning.

The bell to the studio rings, and another tendril rips off to go answer it. With the door opening comes the familiar sight of Lobelia, allowing himself the pleasure of entering the studio as the tendril excitedly reaches up to wrap itself around the magician’s hand. Lobelia laughs as he’s eagerly dragged across the studio to Hazel’s side, greeting the light of his life with a gentle kiss and a hug which she returns all too happily. She draws a hand to his cheek, caressing him lovingly and tenderly as if it’s the first time in a while that she’s seen him.

“You look tired, _amour_.”

“That’s an understatement.”

It was Lobelia’s turn to cup her face, his eyes searching her face for answers that she was not giving him. Hazel looked worn out, like her mind was running a million miles faster than she could comprehend them. Her usual calm gaze replaced with one filled with worry.

“What’s on your mind? Was it the meeting with captain and those Society peoples?”

Hazel nodded, letting out a small sigh as she buried her head into his shoulders.

“Wanna talk about it?”

She turned from his shoulder and looked at the canvas that held the unknown figure she painted. Lobelia turned with her, his head tilting as he stared at the woman on the canvas. It was an oddly somber portrait for something of Hazel’s skill—was it a private commission?

“I am worried about our mission. The primal that has been wreaking havoc is apparently…Calliope.” She mutters the name out as if she still can’t believe it after all these hours.

“ _Quoi_? As in the really nice theater girl who gives us tickets to the operas sometimes?” The disbelief in his voice does not help Hazel’s composure, and she simply nods at the comment.

“And you know the kicker? Mars and Janus apparently _knew_ about all this. They just never told anyone about it!” Her voice was increasing in octaves, the sound ringing in Lobelia’s ears. He moved behind her and set his hands on her shoulders, working his fingers to try and ease the tension out of her. He’d never seen Hazel lift her voice so high before—what was happening?

“Do you think they were trying to protect Calliope?”

“I don’t know—maybe! But why wouldn’t she tell me? I thought she’d trust me…!”

Pitch black bile sat in the pit of her stomach as she tried to keep herself composed, feeling waves of anger and betrayal that she never felt before. It hurt. It hurt, it hurt, _it hurt._ The only comfort were Lobelia’s hands against her, the love and warmth keeping her afloat amidst the sea of doubt.

“Try not to let that get to you, amour. She must’ve had her reasons, you know it.”

_Soft, loving, caring. Focus on the words that he breathes and let them lull the body into a sense of safety._

“Yes, maybe that’s true. I just…my head is all messed up right now.” A tendril comes to rest onto Hazel’s lap like a small dog, her hands absentmindedly distracting themselves by petting it. “After what happened last week, I’m…scared. Really, really scared.”

“What are you scared of?”

_His words mean well but they’re an intricate web of sugar-coated words and deceit; betrayal is in the midst._

“…When Mars told me the truth, I did something to my tendrils that I never did before. I…grabbed for their ink and they armored my arm. It…climbed onto me like a shield.” The confession came out like an embarrassing string of words and Hazel found herself looking back at the painting, trying to find comfort in the stranger’s eyes.

“That…is strange. They usually just house your paint, non?” Lobelia wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her into a tight embrace. Hazel sighed contentedly, wishing she could keep herself trapped in this moment forever.

“They are the weapons, the strength of myself. For them to try and _arm me_ of all things is a reaction I’ve never seen before. In truth, I don’t think I’ve ever been that mad before.”

Hazel pat the tendril she sat upon in apology yet again. She knew the tendrils existed to serve her, but she still cared for them as if they were a living creature—and to Hazel, they were. They were an extension of herself that allowed her to fight and protect those dear to her. But the way they reacted to her earlier…there was something about it, something about the aggression that didn’t sit right with her.

“You do seem…different today. You’re breathing differently, like if at any moment you’ll be set off into a panic attack, amour.” That was an understatement of the year.

“I don’t feel like myself, you’re right. I feel…wrong.” She motioned at the portrait in front of her, drawing Lobelia’s eyes to it. “What do you think of this portrait?”

The magician’s eyes stared at the portrait. The figure seemed to blur and blend with the dark background, her black hair almost indistinguishable against the backdrop. In fact, the most striking features of the women were golden eyes that stared directly out to meet Lobelia’s gaze. The eyes were filled with life but betrayed a feeling of sadness and loneliness that were hidden by long eyelashes.

“It looks… _sombre_. Not like your usual portraits. Did the patron want it so?”

“This wasn’t commissioned, sweetheart.”

Her words stunned Lobelia. Hazel doesn’t usually paint portraits unless it was a commission or a personal project.

“Then…you did this on your own, as a personal project?”

“Yes. It’s a self-portrait.”

Now that statement _definitely_ stunned Lobelia. He stared at the portrait and back to Hazel, repeating the motion for a good thirty seconds. If this was a joke, it was a really bad one.

“Amour…I regret to inform you that you don’t look like that.”

Hazel went silent for a moment, her eyes still glued to the portrait. She wanted to speak her mind, to just let the thoughts and worries flow from her mouth until her lungs lacked the will to keep going. But she feared the consequences. How could she bury her loved one under the miles of truth she was to bury him in? In the comfort of her own studio, there was nothing but them.

And yet the worry lingered.

“Did you know I have no memories of the astrals? I don’t know anything about the war, nor do I remember what the astrals were like.” She started, waiting for Lobelia to digest the words she was spitting out. He snapped his fingers and a tendril formed underneath him, easing him onto it as he drew Hazel closer to his chest. The warmth of his embrace revitalized her, but she couldn’t bring herself to give into the comforts of love.

“My only memories are of the skydom when I woke up for the first time, in a big green field surrounded by flowers. All I knew is that I was a primal, that I loved art and that I would help spread the love for it, and that I had these tendrils to protect me. Unlike the rest of the troupe who were either apart of the war or created during it…I have no memory of that world.”

She felt so pathetic as she poured her heart out to him, despite the way he squeezed her close, the way his fingers brushed against her arms, or the way his lips here pressed at the top of her forehead. Hazel felt unworthy of this love. He flicked his wrists and summoned a conch into his hands, gently placing it next to them on one of the tables that had her brushes. She could hear the soft sounds of a forest; birds chirping, the wind rustling the trees and a river flowing.

“Do you think the stress of the situation is breaking you?” It was obvious that Lobelia had no words to offer her and was simply trying to work this situation through with her.

“I…maybe. I think something is going to happen, and I don’t know when it’ll come, and what will happen as a result.” Hazel digs her hand into his robes, her fear overwhelming her faster than she can control it. Lobelia reacts in kind, squeezing her with all the strength he has in his body.

“Amour—”

“Lobelia, if something happens to me…promise me you’ll stop me.”

“What?”

Hazel wondered if he used his magic to amplify the horror in his voice or if the reaction caught her off guard.

“I…if something happens to me. If I threaten to hurt you or the Troupe—”

“ _Amour._ ” He had the voice of a man begging for release from the grip of death, uttering his affections like a prayer in desperate hope to wash the request out of the air. “Non! I will not do anything that will inflict pain on you!” 

“But—Lobelia, please.” She looked up Lobelia, her eyes staring pleadingly into his. She never knew a sense of fear like this before, and it seemed like she was on the verge of collapsing into nothingness.

“ _Non, non, non_. I won’t let any harm fall onto you, amour. I _will_ protect you from whatever comes from this adventure. I will bet my life on it.”

And all she could do was embrace him—hold him tightly between her arms as if it would be their last moment together. The pitch-black ink that sat at the crux of her stomach flooded her veins with malicious ichor and energy, slamming her sense of self against her brain until her body shook with sadness and tears. She cried and cried and _cried_ , unable to contain the sadness, the worry, the fear of what was to come.

Lobelia held her like the most precious object in the world that he would not want to see go away afraid of what would happen if he let her go and watch her crumble into nothing. He too did not know what lay in front of them on the search for Calliope, but he too felt fear for the first time in his life.

At least, they would have each other, right?


End file.
